Listen to the Smart One
by tii-chan17
Summary: Arthur hates Eames. Eames hates Arthur. At least, that's what they think; Cobb disagrees. And, as we know, Cobb is always right.


**A/N: Oh my God, this is finally done. I've been working on this baby for weeks (months?) and it's really, really long. For me. So be glad!  
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**This is my first Inception fic, and it's my favourite pairing for this 'verse, so no flamers for that, please. If you're thinking of flaming because it's ArthurxEames, then why are you here, anyway?  
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**I didn't actually plan for this to be a Humour fic, but hey, things worked out that way. Woo! Humour makes me laugh...which is normal, right? O_O  
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**Arthur and Eames' names come from my imagination completely, I didn't get them from anywhere. I know there are a few fics which have the same surname for Arthur, but I swear I came up with it before I read them. It just fits him...  
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**Also, they do have a bit of a banter about accents. As in English/American. I'd just like to say that, though I am English (well, I don't have an American accent, at least), I don't belive the American accent is daft in any way. That's Eames talking. XP  
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**Same with the English accent bashing too, btw.  
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**So, please review and be nice. Constructive criticism is good, but I take flaming very hard, even though I know I shouldn't, so...yeah.  
**

**Disclaimer: If I could think up something as cool as Inception, I'd have been a published author at seven. And, evidently, I was not. Though I _did _get something published at twelve...it was in an anthology, though.**

* * *

Listen to the Smart One

Eames hated Arthur. He was a stuck-up, anal stick-in-the-mud with no imagination or sense of humour whatsoever.

Arthur hated Eames. He was a ridiculous, badly-dressed clown who had too much of a penchant for being overly flamboyant and annoying.

Cobb was just sick of the two arguing.

"Eames, what exactly are you doing?"

"Hm? Oh, me? Nothing much, really."

"Yes, that would be the problem. Aren't you supposed to be working on your forgery for the job?"

"In a minute."

"You said that ten minutes ago."

"Honestly, Arthur, would you mind getting off my case for a few seconds? I'm a grown man; I can manage myself."

"Really? I had no idea."

"And you pride yourself on being so observant, darling…"

"Don't call me that. I'll have you know I—"

"Would you two just shut up for five seconds?" Cobb asked irritably, rubbing his temples, "I've had a constant headache since you both came in this morning."

"He started it." They both said simultaneously, each pointing at the other.

Cobb rolled his eyes. "I don't care who started it, I'm going to finish it. And I stopped saying that to James and Phillipa six months ago."

"What's your point?" said Eames suspiciously, sensing an underlying implication in Cobb's words.

"My point is you're both acting like toddlers. Now snap out of it and _work_. We're already running behind schedule," Cobb instructed, not really expecting it to have any effect.

"It's not like it's my fault," Arthur pointed out acidly, throwing a pointed look at Eames.

"Arthur!" Cobb was losing it. He thought work was supposed to be a break from dealing with childish bickering.

"Sorry, sorry," Arthur grumbled, not looking sorry at all.

"Really, darling, so immature," Eames teased, unheeding of Cobb's waning sanity.

"Eames! Shut up! Both of you, shut up!" Cobb lost it. He breathed deeply and pushed his hair back from his forehead. "Look, one of you go buy us lunch, okay? Actually, Arthur better go, seeing as he's finished his work." Cobb tried to ignore the smug smile on Arthur's face. "Eames, you try to finish your forgery while he's gone, okay? Think of it as a race," Cobb half-pleaded, knowing it was a bad idea to fuel the rivalry between his two co-workers, but beyond caring at that point.

"Will do!" Eames declared happily, secure about his chances of success in the challenge.

Arthur wasted no time in grabbing his wallet and power-walking out of the warehouse to grab three sandwiches from the local deli.

It was a few blocks to the sandwich place, and Arthur pondered on which fillings to get as he walked. Normally, he would have gotten whichever Eames disliked most, but unfortunately the man seemed to have an unlimited liking and capacity for any type of food, edible or not.

Arthur blinked, catching himself in the middle of his puerile plots. What the hell was he doing, acting like a five year-old just to try (fail) to irritate another grown man? Eames, he would expect such behaviour from, but himself…

Maybe he should listen to Cobb and act less childish in the future. It really was incredibly unbecoming and unprofessional.

At the deli, Arthur waited in the sizeable lunchtime queue, not really bothered anymore about whether he got back in time to win their 'race'. Yes, Cobb was definitely right; they were both being ridiculous.

Finally placing his order and sitting down to wait for the food, Arthur tapped his fingers on the table and went over the plan for their latest job again, combing thoroughly for any holes or chinks.

Back at the warehouse, Eames was hooked up to the PASIV dreaming device, working on his forgery of some wealthy businessman.

He swaggered back and forth, clearing his throat at regular intervals and picking at his suit jacket, as he'd seen the man do.

Yes, his forgery was pretty much perfect, even if he did say so himself. He doubted the man's mother would know the difference. Which, of course, was the aim of the entire thing.

The 'Dream Team', as Eames had so cleverly nicknamed them, had been hired for a job involving a large (enormous) electronics company. The CEO of said company, Maximillian Leroux, was corrupt and slimy, but still under the influence of his mummy dearest. Cobb, Arthur and Eames needed to try and convince the mother that her son was up to no good, and to get him to stop in his immoral activities. Frankly, Eames had no clue why they were targeting the mother instead of the CEO himself, but he seemed to vaguely remember Arthur saying something about the man receiving subconscious instruction to guard his mind against people such as themselves.

The basic plan was to replay some 'cherished' memories of the woman with her son (Eames playing Leroux), but draw attention to the more sinister aspects of his behaviour, hopefully allowing her to get the idea that her darling boy was up to trouble. Semi-Inception, but less complicated, dangerous and cool.

Overall, it really was a bloody waste of a job. Eames was staggered as to why some companies would spend so much money just to maybe-sabotage their rival in business. It was ridiculous, really.

In addition, Eames wasn't so sure the two needed him to forge the repulsive man; he was certain they could do fine without him. But they had asked for his aid (well, Cobb had asked), and he was slightly strapped for cash at the moment, so he hadn't really seen much of a reason to turn them down.

Unfortunately for him, Arthur was being even more of a bloody nuisance than normal. Honestly, the man could get so anal sometimes, it was ridiculous.

Though he had to admit, he could be fun occasionally. Fun to annoy to distraction, that was. Arthur's buttons were just so amusing to push, and he reacted so splendidly.

Lamentably, Arthur was not stupid and knew how to bite back. The Point Man was well aware that Eames hated being nagged and having his working methods snarked at, and he did both of these with amazing skill.

Really, when he looked at it, they were both being absolutely daft, and driving Cobb round the bend to boot. But it was just so much fun.

"Eames," Cobb called to him, drawing him out of the lethargic post-dream state, "Lunch's here."

"Ah, excellent, I was just getting peckish," Eames enthused. He took the wrap Arthur was holding out to him and took a bite. "No poison, darling?" he asked provokingly.

Cobb nearly groaned aloud.

Much to everyone's surprise, Arthur just raised an eyebrow and went back to his laptop, munching his own wrap.

Eames blinked. "Dear God, I think he may actually have done this time," he said, sniffing his food.

Cobb rolled his eyes. "Don't be stupid, of course he didn't. If Arthur wanted you dead, he would have put a bullet through your brain by now."

"True," Eames admitted, taking another bite. It really was a very good wrap, arsenic or not.

Arthur was trawling through large amounts of documents and news stories, not really paying attention to any of them. He had researched the mark in detail, and he was sure he hadn't missed anything. Still, it didn't hurt to keep up to date.

Suddenly, a large headline caught his eye.

**Charles Hamilton: RIP**

**Charles Hamilton, an irreplaceable researcher who worked with the United States to nullify the Cold War, died at the age of 64 after a long, hard battle with cancer. He will be forever remembered in the mind of the nation, and—**

Arthur couldn't bring himself to read anymore. Suddenly feeling nauseous, he stood up and walked out of the warehouse, unfeeling of the incredulous eyes of Cobb and Eames boring into his back.

The two watched him leave, and both jumped at the sound of the warehouse door slamming.

"Um…?" Eames voiced, not really sure of what to say. He'd never seen the man react so strongly to anything before, barring the Forger himself, of course.

Cobb jumped into action, hurrying to Arthur's abandoned laptop and swivelling it around to read the article.

"Shit," he announced.

"What is it?" Eames got up and joined Cobb at the laptop, curious to say the least.

Cobb gave him a look, and moved to the side so he could read the screen.

After he'd finished, Eames looked up. "And?" he prompted, still nonplussed.

"And this Charles Hamilton was Arthur's guardian, right up until he was eighteen and left for university," Cobb informed him.

Eames blinked. "Ah," he said.

Cobb ran a hand through his hair. "Yeah, ah. When Arthur was around seven, his parents got divorced, leaving him effectively by himself. Neither parent wanted to take him in, and to be honest, neither of them were fit to do so. Anyway, everyone thought Arthur would have to be dragged around the adoption system until he came of age and could leave, but he actually only stayed there for a few months—"

"Like Hitler in prison!" Eames interrupted eagerly.

Cobb gave him a worried look, continuing hesitantly, "…until Charles Hamilton, his father's godfather, asked to foster and eventually adopt him. The plan went through without a hitch, and they got close, Charles being the father Arthur'd never really had. He taught Arthur pretty much everything he knows about research and gathering information, which is what drew my eye to him in the first place. Obviously, after Arthur started dream work, he couldn't visit Charles much; he'd be putting him in danger. But he phoned him often, every month or so. He hasn't been able to in a while, though, we've been really busy with jobs, and he knew he had cancer, but not that it got this bad…" Cobb trailed off, looking worried. "I think he's going to take it really hard," he finished unnecessarily.

Eames was decidedly unsympathetic. "Look, Cobb, I know it's hard to lose a relative or whatever, but people die every day. There's nothing special about this. And Arthur's tough, I'm sure he'll be able to pull through in a week or so."

Cobb glared poisonously at him. "You evidently haven't lost anyone who was that special to you," he stated, making clear that it wasn't a question.

Eames hesitated. "Well…no, but I can imagine…" He stopped when he remembered Cobb's late wife. "Oops," he realised.

Cobb's glare didn't lessen. "Don't mess with things you don't understand, Eames. Don't mention Charles, or cancer, or anything to Arthur, okay?" he told the other man.

"For how long?" Eames asked.

"Forever, until Arthur decides he wants to tell you about it himself," Cobb instructed.

Eames rolled his eyes. "Like that'll ever happen."

The next day, Arthur walked into the warehouse a good ten minutes after Eames and Cobb had arrived. To be blunt, he looked awful.

Cobb eyed him warily as the Point Man trudged over to his laptop and switched it on.

"Hey, Arthur, you okay?" he asked, concerned.

Arthur sighed. "I will be," he told the other man, smiling wanly.

Cobb remained unconvinced.

Eames stayed silent; he'd decided to give Arthur a break from his teasing etc today, just to give him time to recover.

"Well, if you say so." Cobb got up and walked to the door. "I'll go get some coffee. Cappuccino okay for everyone?" he asked.

They nodded.

"Great," Cobb said unenthusiastically, strolling outside.

Eames drummed his fingers on his knee. Cobb had specifically ordered him not to mention anything to Arthur, but really, if he didn't let it all out, the man would just keep it bottled up forever. He needed to vent, Eames decided.

"So…" he started, sauntering over to where Arthur sat. "About your dad figure: sorry for your loss and all that."

Arthur put his head in his hands and sighed. "Eames, I'm really not in the mood right now," he muttered, barely audible through his fingers.

Eames leaned closer. "Don't be ridiculous, darling, you can talk to me. It'll help, you know."

Arthur turned to scowl at him. "I don't think so. Can you leave me alone now?" he asked impolitely.

Eames tutted. "Now, now, no need to be so rude. One would think a world-renowned investigator would teach his protégé better manners," he teased indelicately.

He really shouldn't have been surprised when he got a forceful punch in the face for his effort.

Eames fell on his backside on the tiled floor of the warehouse and watched pensively as Arthur stormed out the door for the second time that week.

Needless to say, Cobb knew exactly what had transpired when he saw Arthur's overturned chair and Eames' split lip.

"Eames, I swear, one of these days Arthur might actually murder you. I don't want to know what you said, I'm certain it was insensitive and spiteful. Go apologise," he commanded.

"But—" Eames broke off. Cobb's expression left no room for argument.

"_Now._"

"Okay, fine, I'm going!" Eames rushed out of the warehouse, grabbing his jacket and wiping blood off his lip. Truthfully, he was actually quite eager to make up for his admittedly uncaring actions; he had been a bit of an asshole, if he was being honest with himself. And whether or not the man hated the other, Eames still felt slightly guilty about what he'd said to Arthur.

It was only a quarter of an hour before he reached the apartment he knew Arthur was renting for the job. He knocked quietly on the door, then more loudly when no one answered. Giving up, and realising there was no way Arthur was going to let him in, he got out his trusty lock picks and broke an entry. Arthur wouldn't thank him for it, but he did need to apologise.

Entering the small living area, Eames failed to immediately see the Point Man. He went into the en suite bedroom and, sure enough, found Arthur sitting on the bed, looking dejected and more than slightly pissed off.

"Eames, please leave," Arthur told him politely.

Eames ignored him and sat down next to him on the soft mattress.

Arthur tried a different tactic. "Fuck off," he said rudely.

Eames blinked. "Now, now, let's not be hasty." He attempted to calm the other man down, while reaching out to put a hand on his shoulder.

He was shoved forcefully away.

"Calm down, love," he said, earning himself a glare worthy of the grumpiest teenager in the world.

Eames gave up, and told Arthur why he was disrupting his privacy in the first place. "Cobb told – well, _demanded_ that I apologise to you. So I'm apologising."

"Fuck off," Arthur repeated.

Eames huffed irritably. "Well, if you're not going to gracefully accept my apology, I may as well not bother then, huh?"

"Your string of forced words does _not _count as an apology, asshole," Arthur spat out.

Eames rolled his eyes and got up to leave, seeing it was pointless. As he went through the doorway, he decided to throw one last barb at his rival. "I have no idea why that man put up with you, honestly I don't."

Arthur was silent.

Arthur wasn't in for work the next day.

Cobb looked at Eames exasperatedly (and more than slightly furiously) and asked, "What did you do?"

"I did nothing!" Eames declared.

"Frankly, and with good reason, I don't believe you."

Eames sighed. He then proceeded to tell Cobb about his brief conversation with Arthur.

When he finished by repeating the last words he had left Arthur with, Cobb swore emphatically and fished out his cell phone, pressing a number on his speed dial.

"What?" Eames asked innocently at Cobb's death glare.

Cobb continued to glare.

"Okay, maybe I was a bit of an arse, but I really can't seem to help it around that man. He just brings out the donkey-ish side of me," Eames admitted sullenly, with maybe a hint of remorse.

Cobb only rolled his eyes and straightened up when there was an audible click on the other end of the line, signalling Arthur had picked up.

"Arthur!" he exclaimed, not bothering with saying who he was; Arthur had Caller ID.

There was a brief pause while Arthur presumably returned the 'greeting'. Eames shamelessly eavesdropped on Cobb's side of the conversation.

"Arthur, look, I know Eames was being a—what? What do you mean you're not doing the job anymore? Yes, I know you've collected all the information, but—Arthur, listen to me! What are you talking about? You can't just refuse to…no, wait Arthur, you can't just refuse to work with one guy, even if he _has _said something to offend you…yes, okay, offend you _a lot, _then. Look, come back, Eames is sorry!"

(Eames was not sorry and thought Arthur was being a complete drama queen. At least, that was what he was telling himself.)

"…Alright. I understand if you feel that way, but at least talk to him about it. If you don't feel like things can be repaired, you can quit. But seriously, Arthur, he doesn't hate you—"

Eames pricked his ears at that one. He didn't? Well, he supposed he held a grudging respect for the man and thought he was pretty much brilliant at anything, but he'd always assumed that he hated Arthur, and vice versa. But if Cobb, the master of…everything thought he didn't hate him…maybe he should reconsider that assumption.

"Arthur, don't be ridiculous, of course he doesn't hate you! See, he's nodding."

Eames wasn't.

"Don't be stupid. He _doesn't hate you_, and you don't hate him either…yeah, you keep telling yourself that. See you in ten, okay? Yeah, bye." Cobb hung up.

He turned to look at Eames. "You are going to be pleasant," he commanded.

"Aye aye, Cap'n!" Eames joked.

"This isn't a laughing matter, Eames," Cobb reprimanded, "Arthur was seriously hurt by what you said. Like, seriously. Charles meant a lot to him, but to be blunt…well, honestly, I think he actually takes more heed of you and what you say than anyone else," he admitted.

Eames choked on nothing. "What? What the hell are you on about, Cobb? Arthur doesn't take heed of me at all; he purposefully ignores me to piss me off!"

Cobb shook his head. "He always replies to your ridiculous teasing, no matter how much it irritates him. And, believe it or not, he actually incorporates _everything_ you suggest for a job, in some form or another."

Eames raised an eyebrow.

Cobb continued, "And he takes your insults to heart as well, though not in an overly-depressed way. Like that time you called him anal ten times in one day, the next he really tried to loosen up a bit."

"But why would Arthur get so strung up over something I said that I evidently didn't know anything about? I never even met that Charles Hamilton guy!" Eames pointed out, still confused.

Cobb sighed. "I don't think he took it that literally. I'm not sure, I haven't seen him since, but it sounded as if he took your comment to mean you detest him completely and would rather not put up with him yourself."

Eames was flabbergasted. "But I never implied any such thing! Well…maybe a bit…sometimes," he allowed after a moment's thought.

Cobb shook his head. "You think?" he asked rhetorically.

"But I don't really mind Arthur's company that much. I mean, he can be a pain in the arse at times, but so can everyone. I just notice it in him more than in others."

Cobb raised his eyes to meet Eames' own. "Yeah. You really are way more aware of him than you are of others," he pointed out.

Eames blinked, a retort on the tip of his tongue, but decided to consider Cobb's observation a little longer. "I suppose you're right…" he mused, wondrous at Cobb's ability to know people inside out, better than they knew themselves, before he'd even stepped into their minds once.

Cobb was just about to say something else when they were interrupted by the sound of the warehouse door opening and smart, sharp footsteps approaching.

"Here he comes," Cobb whispered unnecessarily.

Right on cue, Arthur stepped into view and looked at them suspiciously. "Okay, I'm in work. Now what?"

He was answered by Cobb roughly grabbing the back of his shirt, along with Eames' paisley number, and shoving them both into a nearby storage cupboard where they kept the PASIV equipment.

Landing heavily on Eames' stomach, effectively knocking the wind out of him, Arthur swiftly jumped to his feet and tried to open the door, only to find it hurriedly locked just as his fingers touched the handle.

"We are not in high school, Dom!" he called, "This is ridiculous!"

"And so are you two!" retorted the disembodied voice of the other, "Now talk and sort out your differences! I'll let you out when I think you've been in here long enough."

"But I really need the loo…" Eames tried half-heartedly.

He was met with a disparaging silence.

"Fine, fine…" Eames muttered. He finally drew up the courage to sit up and look Arthur in the eye for the first time since yesterday. Now that they were both trapped in a small cupboard with no means of escape, Eames suddenly felt the risk of his murder was much higher than previously.

Sure enough, Arthur was glaring at him with enough venom to kill a lesser mortal.

"Um…" Eames started intelligently. "How about you start?"

Arthur gave him a look and slid down the door to put his chin in his hands. "Are you going to say anything else asshole-ish?" he asked.

"No," Eames replied fervently.

Arthur raised his eyebrow, but decided he may as well take Eames at his word. "Fine. I think you're a complete prick for saying…well, everything you said that day, really," he said.

Eames gulped. Not a good start, then. "And you would be right. I'm sorry, I was being a total bastard."

"Yes you were. But I accept your apology, now that you've actually given me one."

"But I gave you one before!" Eames cried, wounded.

"No you didn't. You said Cobb told you to apologise, so you were. I didn't hear any actual apology being voiced," Arthur said airily.

Eames sighed deeply. "Fair enough."

He thought the conversation would end there and he and Arthur would just sit in silence until Cobb finally let them out, but then something came to the forefront of his mind. "Hey, Arthur?"

"Hm?"

"Cobb said you think I hate you and don't want to be around you. Was he right?" Eames inquired.

Arthur averted his eyes. "Was_ I_?"

"No."

A surprised glance was sent the Englishman's way, but he continued nevertheless.

"I did jump to the conclusion that was I felt for you must be hate in some form, but Cobb somehow opened my mind to the fact that really, it's not. You know, in that impossible, weird way he does…yeah. So, actually I think I just feel a strong sense of rivalry towards you, some admiration and maybe just a smidgen of jealousy. And that's what it is. I certainly don't wish to avoid your company," Eames told the Point Man.

Arthur looked mildly stunned. "…I have a lot to thank Cobb for," he announced, but then remembered his current location. "On second thoughts, maybe I'll call off the loan," he reconsidered.

Eames chuckled. "Why would you be thanking Cobb, though? Assuming we weren't holed up in a broom cupboard. PASIV cupboard, whatever."

Arthur shrugged. "I don't like feeling hated," he stated simply.

"But do _you_ hate me?" Eames asked curiously.

"Never did."

"But you always picked holes in my working methods, or did whatever you could to annoy me," Eames said.

"So did you," Arthur reminded him.

"True…"

There was a brief silence.

Eames broke it by asking, "Hey, do you think we should get to know each other better? You know, to pass the time. Cobb doesn't sound like he's going to be coming back any time soon."

Arthur raised an eyebrow. "Get to know each other how?"

"Well, in my country, we have this lovely game called Broken Telephone…"

"Do you mean Twenty Questions?"

"Same difference," Eames waved off the technicalities. "Anyway, it's quite fun. Want to try?"

"No," came the blunt refusal.

Eames blinked. "Okay…any charming American games I have yet to discover?" he tried again.

"If you don't know them, I almost certainly don't."

"Again, true. So what, then?"

"No idea."

Another brief silence.

Eames suddenly threw himself at the door, startling Arthur, and began to bang his fists against the wood. "Cobb!" he called desperately, "Please! Let us out! We've made up and all that, but it's so boring in here!"

"I think he might have gone out, actually," Arthur said.

Eames stared at him disbelievingly. "He wouldn't," he said, aghast.

"How much longer have I known Dom than you?"

"Point. But would he?"

"Yes. After all, I did the same to him and Mal a few years ago."

"No way!" Eames was amazed.

Arthur shrugged. "They needed to get together," he stated.

Eames paused. "Do you think Cobb's stuck us in this cupboard so that _we _get together?" he asked hesitantly.

Arthur froze. "It does sound like just the kind of stupid thing he'd do," he admitted.

Eames groaned.

"Is the idea of being matchmade with me so horrendous?" Arthur teased lightly, though you'd have to know him very well to be able to tell from his tone.

Luckily, Eames knew him almost as well as his own mother…guardian had. "Oh, definitely, darling, absolutely repulsive."

"Got to adore the British sarcastic wit," Arthur said. Eames could just make out a wry smile on the other man's lips in the gloomy room.

"Thank God, _one_ American's finally noticed!" he proclaimed enthusiastically.

"What's so bad about Americans?"

"Nothing, except that they're normally oblivious to any form of sarcasm, have the most ridiculous accents in the world, and think they can randomly miss out or add letters into words _we _invented!"

"Like 'color'?" Arthur asked.

"_Please_ tell me you said that with a U."

"Nope, sorry."

"It's 'colour', dammit, 'colour'!" Eames shouted, exasperated.

Arthur chuckled, surprising his companion. "So it _was _you who went through my entire fifty pages of research for the Maxwell Job adding U's and 'correcting' the word aluminum."

"Aluminium."

"I knew it."

"Well, really, darling, who else would it be? And I know my spelling's atrocious, but even_ I_ know that much."

"Actually, I think you'll find I spell everything correctly, according to my Spell Check," Arthur informed him.

"Yes, but it's _Americanised_." Eames hissed, like it was a crime on par with mass homicide.

"Did you say that with an S?"

"…Yes…"

"Z's look better."

"What? They do _not_! And my accent's better than yours anyway!"

"How so?"

Eames smirked. "I don't have a daft drawl for a start."

"But you sound like the Queen."

"And you sound like…the President..."

Arthur looked at him.

"Okay, maybe that one was a bit forced," Eames allowed. "Bantering like this is actually quite fun," he realised. "…Though I knew that already," he remembered.

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Idiot," he said.

"Am not," Eames retorted, pushing Arthur away slightly.

Arthur shoved him back, unfortunately misjudging the strength necessary and sending the Forger careering into a wall of shakily constructed shelves.

They all collapsed noisily on his head.

"Eames!" Arthur yelled at the other man's surprised cry. "Are you alright?"

A groan was heard under a pile of wood and smashed sedative bottles.

Gingerly, Arthur made his way over to where the mess was, trying to avoid stepping on any bits of broken glass in the dark.

Feeling his way over the rubble, his hand suddenly brushed over the upper part of a suit-covered leg. Grasping onto it securely, he managed to heave the rest of Eames out from under the mess.

"Are you alright?" he repeated anxiously, feeling the man's limbs for any broken bones.

Eames pushed him away. "Fine, fine. I hit my head fairly hard, so I'm a bit woozy right now, but it should be okay in a bit," the Forger reassured him, rubbing the back of his skull.

"I'm really sorry," Arthur apologised.

"No need, happens to everyone," Eames waved him off. He attempted to get up, failed miserably, and stumbled into Arthur's chest.

The Point Man caught him securely, wrapping one arm around his waist and the other under his arms. He then proceeded to half drag, half carry Eames to a corner void of any shards of glass.

"Well, don't I feel like a damsel in distress now," Eames muttered under his breath, not sure whether to be amused, irritated or insulted.

"That's going to cost a bomb," Arthur thought out loud, ignoring his passenger as he kicked half a bottle to the side. "Dom's going to be furious."

"I can imagine…" Eames groaned, not looking forward to it.

"Never mind, we might get off easy. He may only castrate us," Arthur predicted pessimistically.

"So optimistic, darling," Eames said sarcastically, beginning to roll his eyes but stopping when it made him see stars.

Reaching the corner, Arthur sat down heavily with Eames leaning against his side, still dizzy from his impromptu introduction to the shelving.

"So…" Eames began, causing Arthur to sigh wearily. Nothing good ever came when Eames started a sentence like that. "Did you adopt your guardian's surname and all?" he asked.

Arthur was surprised, to say the least. Not at the question, but the fact that he didn't mind that Eames had asked it. And the fact that he was going to answer. "Yeah, why?"

Eames whooped in Arthur's ear, causing him to wince at the Decibel level. "I finally found out your last name! God knows I've been trying to find it everywhere. You're practically nonexistent on the Internet, you know that?"

"Yes, actually, I erased the records myself," Arthur informed him sarcastically.

"Right. Well, I know now. Arthur Hamilton. It kind of fits. I don't think I'll ever consider you as anything apart from just Arthur, though."

"Whatever. And your first name? I looked on the Web and saw someone called Eames Eames with a nationality and education background that matched yours, but I was just too disgusted to believe it."

Eames laughed. "Nah, that was my mate who's good at hacking changing my records a bit so I couldn't be traced easily. He thought it'd be funny to christen me Eames as my given name as well as my last."

"It wasn't amusing."

"We thought it was."

"But that's you insane Brits."

"Actually, he was Japanese," Eames informed him pedantically.

"I really don't care. What's your first name?" Arthur reminded him of the original question.

"Alexander. Don't say a word," Eames warned.

"Alexander Eames. That is too English for words," Arthur told him, laughing quietly.

"I told you not to say anything! I hate it anyway, hence the reason everyone calls me Eames, barring my parents."

"Why do you hate it? There's nothing wrong with it."

"It's too poncy. And Alex and Lex sound daft as well, in my opinion."

"I don't see where you're coming from, but I doubt I'd get it anyway if I did."

"You wouldn't."

"Well then," Arthur stated, "There you have it."

There was silence for a few minutes before Eames asked, "When do you think Cobb'll let us out?"

Arthur considered. "No idea. It'll either be fairly soon or tomorrow morning."

"Tomorrow?" Eames squeaked the manliest squeak he could.

"Yup. We_ have_ been driving him to the edge of sanity recently," Arthur reasoned, "And he won't believe us if we tell him we've made up. So we'll just have to wait it out."

"Oh, fun…" Eames grumbled, feeling hard done by. Then he had a brainwave. "Could we break down the door?"

Arthur rolled his eyes. "I think we've broken enough for today, don't you?" he asked, glancing over at the pile of rubble to their left.

"Well, I don't know about you, but I'd quite like my lunch, dinner and breakfast, thanks," Eames told him.

Arthur shrugged. "Don't worry, Cobb will give us something. Probably."

Eames' eyes widened. "You're making me really nervous, you know that?"

Arthur's only answer was to laugh.

Eames scowled. "I hate you."

"And I hate you."

"You don't mean that."

"Neither do you."

Eames thought for a bit. "Arthur, would you consider us friends?" he asked, "Now that we've stopped saying all the nasty things and just boiled it down to a good understanding and comfort with each other, of course."

"Hm…" Arthur tapped his fingers on the floor beside him. "I'm not sure. I mean, when you think of the facts, then yes, we are friends. But when it comes down to it, I just don't feel the same around you as I do with Dom, for instance."

"I see." Eames didn't really know what to say to that. "I'd like it if we considered ourselves friends," he revealed, "most of my bar mates are really just that."

"So you've never had a real friend?" Arthur looked at him disbelievingly. He just seemed so charismatic.

Eames slapped his arm. "Don't be daft. Of course I've had friends; I'm not some sad person who never talks to anyone. But recently, with the dream work and all…I've been moving around a lot, and they all just sort of drifted away. I mean, I'm sure we could talk and have fun if we met again, but it just wouldn't be the same. If you know what I mean."

"Yeah, I do. The only long-term friend I've had since I started working is Dom, and you can see the reasons for that. Him and Mal, that is, but not anymore." Arthur looked a bit sad at that.

"It must have been hard for you as well. I know Cobb took it really badly, and then you had to deal with him and your own grieving. Maybe I should've been around to help out," Eames mused. The Englishman had only appeared on the scene about six months after Mal's death, when everyone had pretty much come to terms with it.

"God, no!" Arthur protested. "You would have made things at least ten times worse, with that careful tact of yours."

Eames winced. "Yeah, on second thought, maybe it was a good thing I wasn't there. Sorry about my…small blunder again."

"_Small_?" Arthur snorted, though not really offended.

"Big, then."

"Try humungous. Dom would've strangled you if you'd said anything like that to him after Mal passed," Arthur joked, though it would have been a very real possibility.

Eames gulped. "Definitely a good thing I wasn't there, then," he concluded.

"Well done, Sherlock," Arthur congratulated him. "Your head okay now?" he asked, remembering the demolished shelves.

Eames rubbed it. "Um, yeah, think so. Bit sore still, but I guess that's to be expected, right?"

"Right. Let's hope you haven't got a concussion."

"What do we do if I do?" Eames asked nervously. He wasn't overly fond of hospitals.

"Dunno. Accident and Emergency ward?" Arthur suggested.

"I think they'd expect us to be there right after the accident happened, not the next day," Eames reminded him. "Do you think Cobb would let us out if we gave him that excuse?"

"…Maybe, but I don't think it's worth trying."

"Anything's worth a go!" Eames declared. "Cobb!" he called loudly, "I got nailed on the head with a shelf and we think I have a concussion!" he lied.

"Don't believe you," came the answer.

"But I do! Can't see straight!"

"How can you tell in there?"

"…Good point, well made. Fancy letting us out anyway? It's really dull in here."

They heard Cobb's footsteps approaching the door and waited with baited breath.

"Have you apologised?" Cobb interrogated.

"Yes!" Eames affirmed, though it sounded more like pleading.

"Arthur, has he?"

"Yeah. Seriously, Dom, let us out. It's hot in here and I'm hungry," Arthur complained.

"Fine." They heard the clicking of the lock, and then the door was open, letting in a stream of daylight and thankfully fresh air.

Eames and Arthur made a break for it.

Cobb looked at them both, bemused. "Why the rush?" he asked, "You were only in there for an hour and a half."

"Boring!" Eames declared.

"Hot," Arthur added.

"…Right. Me and Mal didn't mind that much," Cobb pointed out.

"But there was a reason for that," Arthur reminded him.

Eames sniggered.

Cobb looked alarmed. "You didn't tell him, did you?"

Arthur shrugged. "Yeah. Why?"

"That's not fair!" Cobb protested.

"You locked me in a cupboard. Think of it as revenge."

Cobb sighed. "Fine, whatever. Are we going to get on with this job or what? We'll need to actually execute it in a few days."

Eames rolled his eyes. "It's not exactly difficult," he pointed out.

"Which would make it all the more embarrassing if something went wrong. Come on guys, snap to it!" Cobb ordered.

The two obeyed, not quite sure why they let him boss them around so much.

The job had gone successfully, a bit of a boring turn-out in Eames' opinion, but no one listened to him, so it didn't matter.

The Forger was currently sitting with Cobb, an empty beer glass in his hand. He would have refilled it, but Arthur would have killed him if he got drunk in the workplace.

Speaking of the Point Man, Eames had been surprised to find that their relationship had improved dramatically since their little excursion in the cupboard. The two could now hold a decent five-minute conversation without someone being held at gunpoint, though they still tried to irritate the other to distraction.

Cobb cleared his throat, grabbing Eames' attention. He swirled the remaining alcohol in his glass a few times before downing it.

He swallowed audibly, then said, "You know, Eames, it hasn't been a terrifically long time since Mal, but I think seeing her die like that has put me off women for a while, if not permanently."

"What are you getting at, Cobb?" Eames asked. The Extractor usually had a point when he said something, but unfortunately it wasn't always obvious. At least, not to Eames.

"Nothing, nothing, just…" Cobb inhaled deeply, "Eames, do you think Arthur's gay?"

Eames choked. "_What_? Why?"

Cobb raised an eyebrow, waiting for him to catch on.

"Oh, please, Cobb. _Please_ tell me you're not, for lack of a better word, _crushing_ on him!" Eames begged.

Cobb folded his arms. "Do you have a problem with that?"

"It's _weird_!"

"How so?"

"You guys've been working together for years! It's almost like paedophilic incest!" Eames protested.

Cobb's eye twitched. "Who's a paedophile?"

"Well, you _are _quite a lot older…" Eames hedged cautiously.

"Am not!" Cobb denied, his frown making his materialising wrinkles more prominent.

"Anyway, it's still weird!"

"So you're against it, then. Because it's 'weird'." Cobb concluded.

"I'd rather you didn't say it so definitely. It makes me sound like a homophobe," Eames told him.

"Are you?" Cobb inquired.

"Really, Cobb? I flirt _that much_ with men, and you think that?" Eames asked disbelievingly.

"So what's your problem with me and Arthur?" Cobb demanded.

"It's wei—"

"Yes, I know it's weird, but is it really just that? You're making an awful amount of fuss for 'weirdness'," Cobb pointed out.

"But—it just feels _weird_ to imagine you with him!" Eames repeated.

"Can you think of an adjective other than 'weird' to describe your opinion, please? It's getting monotonous."

"Adjective?"

"Dear Lord. Really? Anyway, are you sure it's just _odd_ to you to imagine him with me in particular, or anybody?" Cobb asked.

"What are you getting at, Cobb?" Eames said for the second time that day.

"Answer the question," Cobb commanded.

"Oh, I don't know! I don't exactly think about this in my spare time!"

"Okay, then, imagine him with…your sister?"

"Don't have one."

"Brother?"

"Ditto."

"Cousin?"

"She's thirteen."

"…Okay, that really would be weird. How about random people you know," Cobb tried again.

"Like Nicole?"

Cobb had no idea who Nicole was. "Whoever."

"…I don't like it," Eames revealed, "They don't suit each other."

"You know someone called…Mike?" Cobb experimented.

"As it so happens, yes."

Cobb wasn't surprised. Eames got around a lot. "And?"

"No," Eames said immediately.

"Okay. How about with you?"

"_Excuse me_?" Eames was shocked, to say the least.

"Imagine yourself with Arthur," Cobb told him.

"_Why_?" Eames was lost.

"Just do it."

Eames obeyed, visualising himself holding Arthur's hand, laughing with him, embracing him, kissing him…

"Does it feel weird?" Cobb's voice snapped him out of his reverie.

"…No," Eames admitted.

"There. See? You were only feeling weird about my 'crushing' on Arthur because you were jealous. Sorted." Cobb looked satisfied.

"Woah, wait! Slow down a sec, Cobb! _Jealous_? I don't think so." Eames voiced his opinion. He was _not_ jealous.

"Well I do," Cobb said, as if that solved everything, "And I'm the smart one."

"I wouldn't say that, per se…"

"In that case, you're the retard."

Eames rolled his eyes. "Fair enough."

"Either way, you should listen to me. You like Arthur, therefore you don't want him to date anyone else. Therefore you should go ask him before anyone else does. Off you go, now," Cobb shooed him away.

"Hey, wait," Eames protested again, "aren't _you_ jealous? You're the one that wants to have crazy butt sex with him."

Cobb looked mildly sick. "I never said that. And I was pretending the entire time to trick you into realising your own insatiable craving for Arthur-related crazy butt sex," Cobb revealed.

Eames blinked "There's a mental image I don't need." He really didn't need it. It wasn't going to make working with the man any easier. "And have I ever mentioned how much I detest your devious nature?"

"Says the Thief." Cobb raised an eyebrow.

"Fair point. So you're saying I should just go ask Arthur out, like we're still in high school?" Eames asked, still not quite sure how exactly he got into this mess.

"Precisely." Cobb was pretending it was simple again. Eames didn't like it.

"There's no way he'll agree!" he pointed out, accurately, for once.

"No, there isn't," Cobb allowed, "But if you manage to make him believe you're serious, you'll have a chance. Maybe."

"Thanks for the motivational pep talk, Cobb, really helping. But I'm not asking Arthur out, facing the certain humiliation of rejection and then _doing it again_!" Eames stated, adamant that he wasn't going to back down on this one.

"I bet you twenty you won't be able to crack him by the end of the week."

"You're on."

'_Roses are red, _

_Vilets are blue,_

_Shugar is sweet,_

_And so are you.'_

"Eames, you spelt 'violets' and 'sugar' wrong," Arthur told the Forger calmly, throwing the note in the wastepaper basket.

Eames was surprised. "How'd you know it was me?"

"No one else's handwriting could possibly be this bad, even if they tried," Arthur said.

"Will you go out with me?"

"No."

"Arthur, I know we've been co-workers a long time, but I've been thinking, and—"

"Eames, have you been practising this in front of the mirror?" Arthur interrupted.

"…Yes. And I got the entire thing off some soap, so I'm guessing you know what I'm going to say next."

"Yes."

"Is that an answer to my yet-unasked question?" Eames inquired hopefully.

"No."

"Is that?"

"Yes."

"Arthur—will you marry me?" Eames cried dramatically, falling on one knee and holding up a small ring that he definitely hadn't pinched out of one of those vending machines at the fairground.

"No, but I may shove that ring down your throat," Arthur told him politely.

"How about shoving something else down my throat?"

"No."

"Arthur. Arthur. Arthur. Arthur," Eames repeated incessantly, trying to catch the Point Man's attention.

Seeing that it wasn't working, he tried something else. "Cobb loves you."

Arthur choked on his oxygen. "_What_?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, did I say Cobb. I meant to say 'I'," Eames told him cheekily, winking.

"…The answer's still no, Eames."

"No, Eames." Arthur didn't look up.

"But—"

"No."

"Eames, what is this?" Arthur asked wearily, sighing inaudibly.

"It's a book of paradoxes!" Eames declared.

"Yes, I can see that. But why?" _Dare I ask_, Arthur added silently.

"You like paradoxes, right?"

"Yes, And?" Arthur really didn't know why he was encouraging the Englishman. It would only get worse if he did.

"And I like making you happy, so now we're both cheerful!" Eames concluded, beaming.

"Was that really the only reason you gave me this?" Arthur tapped the book against the other man's forehead.

"Uh…"

"Jesus Christ. Whatever, take it back, then." Arthur shoved the book in the Forger's chest and started walking away.

Eames' voice stopped him in his tracks. "Huh? You don't like it?"

"I don't want an object given to me out of false affection." Arthur neatly avoided the question. In truth, he adored the book, and had been trying to get his paws on it for months.

Eames affected a hurt look. "False? It's not false!" he denied.

"You're not kidding anyone here, Eames," Arthur told him.

"Fine, fine. But take it as a present between friends, then," he insisted, giving the book back to Arthur.

The Point Man took it, trying not to snatch. "The answer's not changing, Eames," he reminded the other.

"I know, I know." Eames was already loping away.

"Darling, will you accept my undying love for you?"

"No. How many times does that make this, Eames?" Arthur was almost afraid of the answer.

"Seven. Why?" Eames inquired innocently.

"I'm thinking of shooting you through the skull for our tenth anniversary." Arthur informed him dryly.

"Lovely," Eames approved. "Are you even gay?" He changed the subject.

Arthur rolled his eyes. He asked him that _now_. Typical Eames. "I have a _girlfriend_."

"Wh—what?" Eames couldn't believe his ears. He'd always assumed Arthur was homosexual, or at least bi, though now he looked back, he had no idea why.

"You heard."

"…Oh." Arthur really hated the let-down look on Eames' face. "Sorry, then. I'll stop now."

He walked away.

Arthur tapped his fingers on the desk in front of him restlessly. Surprisingly to him, Arthur actually _missed _Eames' propositions. They'd become an irreplaceable part of his schedule, and Arthur sort of missed them, if he was being honest with himself.

More to the point, though, he missed the Forger's presence himself. The man had definitely been avoiding him for the past few days, and to be honest, it was slightly sobering.

Arthur hadn't smiled properly since the man had turned away from him after his lie about having a girlfriend. Maybe attempting to get the Englishman off his back hadn't gone as well as he'd initially thought.

Arthur sighed contemplatively, drawing Cobb's attention to him (the Extractor was sitting opposite him, staring at a list of possible Architects' names).

"You okay?" Dom asked, looking mildly concerned (for him).

"Yeah, just tired."

"Rubbish. Just ask him out if you're that bothered about it." Cobb said flippantly.

Arthur was confused. "Huh?" he replied intelligently.

"Eames. You miss him. Ask him out." Cobb spelt out simply, as if speaking to a half-awake James.

"What makes you think I miss him?" Arthur challenged, glancing instinctively over to the area where Eames himself was 'working' (playing hangman) on his laptop, out of earshot.

"It's so obvious a blind, deaf and paralysed man could see it," Cobb told him.

Arthur blinked. "I think he may be getting his lack of senses mixed up. I don't miss him. He's right there," he pointed out.

"Yeah, but he hasn't spoken to you since Friday."

Arthur's wince was evident enough to be detectable by pre-mentioned blind, deaf and paralysed man. It was Monday now, and indeed, he hadn't spoken to the Forger since before the weekend.

"See?" Dom said smugly.

Arthur glared at him. "So why should I ask him out? I don't even like him in that way."

"I didn't realise I was in love with Mal until you pressured me into going out with her, remember?" Cobb reminded him, leaning back in his chair.

"And God, am I paying for that now," Arthur muttered under his breath. Aloud, he said, "I don't love Eames."

"I never said you did," pointed out Cobb, "But you do."

Arthur rolled his eyes, resisted the urge to facepalm and gave up. Cobb was stubborn when he wanted to be (which was always). "Bloody hell. Alright then. I'm not asking him out, but I'll talk to him. Happy?"

"Ecstatic. It's about time."

"You're talking like we're already engaged."

"You practically are."

"Eames?"

Eames turned around to see the Point Man standing a respectful few metres away from him. Giving him space, huh? "Yes, Arthur?"

"Dom says I love you."

Okay. Didn't see that one coming. Play it cool, now. And kill Cobb later, not now. Answer now. "Do you mean Cobb said, 'I love you,' to me, and you're delivering a message, or that Cobb told you that you have feelings for me?"

"Latter," Arthur shifted on his feet a bit. He was embarrassed,

Eames breathed an only slightly staged sigh of relief. "Thank God. Well, Cobb's smart, you should probably listen to him. Now, hop along and go break up with that girlfriend of yours. I don't like cheaters," he told Arthur.

"Hypocrite," Arthur shot back, "And I don't have a girlfriend."

Eames raised his eyebrows. "Wow. That was quick."

Arthur scoffed. "No, I never had one. I said I did so you'd stop harassing me," he admitted.

"I see. Ego taking a big trampling right now," Eames informed him jokily.

"Sorry, but it's the truth."

"So, is Cobb right?" Eames changed the subject.

Arthur was disorientated. "I'm sorry?"

"_Do _you love me?"

For almost the first time in his life, Arthur was speechless. "Uh…"

"Cobb told me I love you, too," Eames admitted, licking his lips unconsciously. His eyes flicked over to where Cobb had been sitting only a moment before. The bastard wasn't there anymore. Never mind, he'd get him later.

"And?" Arthur prompted him, "Do you?"

Taking a steeling breath, Eames took the initiative and pressed his lips to the other man's.

Arthur froze in shock, recoiling slightly. Eames didn't let him escape so easily, though, and the Forger pressed forward still, raising a hand to the back of Arthur's head to hold him in place.

For the first few moments, Arthur was still paralysed, only aware of the soft, velvety texture of Eames' mouth.

Then his eyes slid closed and he kissed him back. Hard.

If Eames was surprised at the Point Man's sudden enthusiasm, he didn't show it, only pressing his mouth harder to the other's, pleading entrance with his tongue. Arthur granted it, opening his mouth and meeting Eames' tongue halfway with his own.

They grappled as such for almost a minute, hair being pulled and shirts being crumpled in tight fists.

Eventually, though, they remembered that Cobb was likely to come back at any given moment and broke away unwillingly, Eames still pressing the odd chaste kiss or two to Arthur's mouth.

Catching his breath, Arthur said between pants, "Well, I guess that answers my question."

"And mine," Eames added, smiling humorously.

"Dom'll be pleased."

"He'd better be. He's been nagging me about this for a whole w—damn!"

"What?"

"I bet him twenty dollars I could get you to go out with me by the end of last week. Do you think he'll extend the deadline?"

"Not a chance."

"Didn't think so."

_Fin._

* * *

__**A/N: So there you have it! It took me sooo...long... XD  
**

**I'm highly aware that this isn't the best fic I've ever written, but it's really hard to write Arthur and Eames actually getting along, so forgive me?  
**

**Review please!  
**


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